Читать книгу The Stepmothers’ Support Group - Sam Baker - Страница 12

‘You remember Eve?’

The small blonde girl sitting cross-legged on an old rug peered shyly through her fringe. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I finished my book. It was good.’

‘Hello Sophie,’ Eve said. ‘I’m glad you liked it.’

‘Alfie hasn’t read his,’ the girl said, ‘He says it’s Venom’s vehicle.’

Eve smiled inside. Were small girls in some way programmed to tell tales? ‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘It can be whatever Alfie wants it to be. Where is he anyway?’

A thundering on the hall stairs, in no way proportionate to the size of the shoes using it, answered her question. ‘Eeeeve,’ he shouted, launching himself into the room. ‘Have you bought me a present?’

‘Alfie!’ Ian said.

Eve just laughed, there was no way she’d get caught out like that again. Alfie was easy enough to buy presents for, but then she’d have to buy presents for the other two and that meant finding something Hannah wouldn’t reject.

‘No presents this time,’ she said. ‘It’s not a special occasion.’

Alfie cocked his head to one side as he processed the information. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘When is a special occasion?’

‘Christmas,’ Eve said, thinking on her feet. ‘Easter, your birthday, that sort of thing.’

His face crumpled in confusion. ‘But you gave me Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and it wasn’t my…’

Eve looked at Ian in panic.

‘It’s OK,’ Ian said, rumpling Alfie’s hair. ‘That was different. That was a late present because Eve missed Easter.’

‘Oh,’ Alfie seemed satisfied. ‘What’s for lunch?’

‘What would you like?’ From the way Ian asked, Eve gathered he already knew the answer.

‘Pizza!’ Alfie yelled and galloped from the room, leading his imaginary army in search of a takeaway menu, which, apparently, was in his bedroom.

‘Red wine? White wine? Beer? Tea?’ Ian asked, as he led Eve back into the hallway. At some point its original black and white Victorian floor tiles had been lovingly restored. Eve tried not to wonder by whom.

‘White please, if you’ve got one open.’

‘What do you think?’ he asked, pushing open the door to the kitchen. Sun poured through a large bay, bouncing off the white walls and giving the scrubbed pine table and cupboards a golden glow. ‘Like it?’

‘What’s not to like?’ she gasped. Eve couldn’t imagine owning a place like this. You could fit her flat twice into the kitchen alone. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Throwing a glance over his shoulder before he pushed the door to, Ian slid his arms around her. ‘So are you,’ he said and kissed her.

‘Daddeee!’ a wail came from halfway up the stairs and Ian rolled his eyes. ‘Talk about timing. Take a seat,’ he nodded at the old pews that lined either side of the table. ‘While I go and sort that out.’

‘Ian? Where’s Hannah?’ Eve asked when Ian reappeared. It was less than a minute later but enough time for Eve to analyse every inch of the room’s polished terracotta floor, clean white walls and minimalist white china. If it hadn’t been for Sophie’s drawings stuck to the fridge and a muddy lattice of paw prints on the kitchen window the room would have been just a little too immaculate.

‘Oh, around somewhere. In her room probably.’ Ian shrugged and stuck his head in the fridge. ‘Pinot Grigio all right?’ But his body language was nowhere near as casual as his words, and Eve felt her confidence dim a little.

An hour sped past. Eve and Ian laid the table, washed salad leaves and mixed olive oil and vinegar to make dressing, while Alfie and Sophie skittered in and out. From Sophie, Eve learnt the paw prints outside the window belonged to next door’s cat. From Alfie, she learnt that Spiderman beat Venom every time.

As Ian chatted, about photographing some up-and-coming artist, about Alfie’s school, about his occasional problems with Inge, the new au pair, Eve dared to let herself hope there might be other Saturday lunchtimes like this.

Sunday lunchtimes as well. Maybe a Saturday night in the middle, too.

‘So, what d’you fancy?’ Ian asked, shoving Alfie’s tattered takeaway menu into her hand and interrupting a reverie that had included Ian, shirt undone, jeans, bare feet, making fresh coffee and toast some Sunday morning.

‘Oh,’ Eve jumped, feeling caught out. ‘Anything. Really. Just get what you usually would.’

‘Now that’s reckless.’ He grinned. ‘In this house that could mean tuna with bacon bits and pineapple…I’d better go see what Hannah wants. It changes from week to week.’

Letting her hand drop, he pulled open the kitchen door. ‘Oh!’ he said, but recovered quickly. ‘Hannah. How long have you…I mean, I didn’t realize you were there.’

When Hannah stepped into the room Eve resisted the urge to shiver; she could have sworn the sunshine dimmed and the temperature dropped a degree or two. The girl’s long fair hair hung loose and the white shirt she wore over her jeans looked vintage, but more granny’s attic—or even grandpa’s—than charity shop.

‘Not long,’ Hannah said, glancing at Eve. Eve saw the girl give her outfit a cursory one-two. ‘I was coming to say hello but I wasn’t sure if it was OK to interrupt.’

‘There’s nothing to interrupt,’ Ian said levelly. ‘You remember Eve, of course.’

‘Hi Hannah,’ Eve said. ‘I love your shirt.’

‘This?’ Hannah shrugged. ‘It was grandpa’s.’

‘It’s lovely,’ Eve said, meaning it, but the girl had already turned away.

‘I hope you haven’t phoned yet,’ she said to her father. ‘I want to change my usual order.’

The pizzas were from Domino’s, the ice cream was Ben & Jerry’s, the washing up was virtually zero and, somehow, the kitchen still looked as if a hurricane had hit it. Hurricane Alfie. The polar opposite of Hannah, who perched at the far end of the table, in the opposite pew, speaking only when spoken to; she was like a cold front that hadn’t quite decided whether or not it was going to blow in.

And even though she had changed her pizza order three times—the last after Ian had placed the order—Eve couldn’t help but notice Hannah ate almost nothing.

None of your business, Eve told herself. And since no one else seemed to notice, let alone comment, she helped herself to another slice of vegetarian supreme with jalapeños, sipped her Pinot Grigio and watched Ian juggle Sophie and Alfie’s constant demands. She’d never seen this side of him before—this side of any man, come to that, since in her thirty-two years she’d never before dated a man with children, and the only other man in her life, her father, just wasn’t that kind of dad.

‘Alfie, drink your juice. No, no cola, you know you’re not allowed cola.

‘Makes him even more hyper than usual.’ This as an aside to Eve.

‘Sophie, wipe the tomato sauce off your hands before taking pudding. Chocolate or vanilla ice cream? No, we don’t have strawberry…Because you said chocolate when I did the order.’

It was an endless litany and Eve was surprised to find she loved it. And if she looked up occasionally to see Hannah watching her from under her hair, well, that was only to be expected, wasn’t it?

‘Well, I think we can call that a success, don’t you?’ Ian said, when the pizza boxes were in the recycling bin, the plates were in the dishwasher, Alfie and Sophie were in front of a DVD, and Hannah was wherever Hannah went doing whatever Hannah did. He emptied the remnants of the bottle into Eve’s glass.

‘Really?’

Ian slid onto the pew beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and leaning back against the wall. He looked as exhausted as she felt. ‘You don’t think so?’

Eve wasn’t sure how truthful she could be. ‘We-ell,’ she said. ‘I was glad just to survive, to be honest.’

‘You did more than survive,’ Ian said pulling her towards him. ‘You were brilliant. They really like you.’

Eve leant into him and closed her eyes. He was right, of course. It had gone much better than she’d feared; give or take Hannah’s silence, although even that could have been worse. But still Eve was knackered. She’d only been there three hours and didn’t think she’d ever been so emotionally drained. How anyone did it full-time—even with ‘help’—she couldn’t begin to imagine. Maybe it was different if the children were your own; maybe some switch in the brain was automatically flicked. That was what Clare always said. But Eve wasn’t convinced.

When she opened her eyes Ian was gazing right at her, as if trying to decipher her thoughts. He looked almost shy.

‘Do you think you could survive longer?’ he asked.

Instinctively, Eve glanced at her watch. ‘Why not? I haven’t got anywhere else to go.’

‘I didn’t mean that.’ He paused, his nerves getting the better of him. ‘I meant, could you survive longer than a Saturday afternoon…a week, maybe? Or just a few days if a week’s too long? It’s just we’re going to my parents’ place in Cornwall for a couple of weeks in August, and I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to spend more time with the kids. And me, of course.’

He smiled.

‘And, erm…if you’d like to, at the same time, I mean…I’d like you to meet my parents.’

Melanie Cheung hadn’t been this nervous since her first date with Simeon, maybe even before then. Shaking the thought from her mind, she tried on and promptly discarded another outfit, before reverting to wide-leg jeans, smock top and flats. Exactly what she’d have put on if she hadn’t been thinking about it at all.

And certainly no date with Vince had ever engendered this sense of excitement or dread. Theirs wasn’t that kind of relationship. This was no bad thing; she didn’t want it to be that kind of relationship. Stomach-churning excitement was not part of her plan right now. Easy and comfortable was what Melanie needed. Someone to chat about the day’s work and watch DVDs with—and it was what she’d had, until Vince had dropped his ten-year-old daughter on her.

You look just fine, Melanie told herself as she knotted her shiny black hair at the back of her head, slicked on lip balm and grabbed her jacket. Better than fine.

If she messed around any longer she’d be late. And she didn’t want to give the other women—the group, the club, whatever they were—any excuses to reject her. They had enough already, given that she hadn’t yet met the child she was going there to talk about.

C’mon, Melanie, she thought as she ran down the stairs, pulled the door to behind her, and stuck her arm out at a black cab, which sped straight past. Chase down your inner lawyer.

She had managed it the day she did her presentation to the private equity firm who agreed to help finance personalshopper.com. That had taken reserves of guts she’d forgotten she had since moving to London. As had pressing send on her e-mail to Eve Owen, Beau’s features director, inviting herself to the next Stepmothers’ Support Group meeting. She could manage it now.

Another cab passed without a light on, and then another.

Shit, now she really was going to be late. If she walked really fast she could be there—covered in sweat, but there—in about twenty minutes, maybe thirty. The Tube, on the other hand, would take a fraction of that; signal failure, overcrowding and bodies on the line permitting. Melanie hated the Tube, just as she’d hated the Subway in Manhattan. It was hot, stuffy, dirty and crowded, especially at this time of the day; the tail end of rush hour. But Kings Cross to Oxford Circus was ten minutes on the Victoria line, and since ten minutes was as long as she had, she headed underground anyway.

The truth was, Melanie was lonely. Her yearning for someone to talk to, someone who didn’t work for her, someone who might just ‘get her’, was more powerful than any fear of rejection. Her sense of isolation had been growing ever since she’d left her home, her friends and her hard-won career in Manhattan to follow Simeon to London. Infatuation made you do stupid things; but as stupid went, falling for Simeon’s lines and finding herself divorced and alone in London took some beating.

It wasn’t that Melanie didn’t know anyone here. But the people she knew were hedge fund wives, the women on the charity circuit. Other women with nothing to do but spend what was left of their husbands’ money on personal trainers, high-maintenance and time-consuming beauty regimes, and expensive meals they never ate. That wasn’t Melanie’s scene, much as she’d tried to make it so to keep Simeon happy.

More than anything, she missed her friends. The women she’d had to resist the overwhelming urge to go fleeing back to the second Simeon told her he’d instructed his lawyers to make her a reasonable settlement, and suggested she instruct her own lawyers to accept it.

But it wasn’t their reaction that had stopped her…The inevitable, we told you so her mind’s eye could see on their faces. No, what stopped her was her family; her mother in particular, who had also told her so. Far more explicitly.

It had been bad enough making the call home to tell them her marriage was over. She wasn’t about to go creeping home with her tail between her legs, too.

Was it mean to ask Clare to arrive at six-thirty, instead of seven, so they could talk before the others arrived? It wasn’t exactly true to the spirit of a support group. Even Eve wasn’t a hundred per cent convinced by her own excuse that she and Clare were friends and this was something just for her friend’s ears. Already, after only one meeting it felt unfair to exclude Lily. The adult Lily had been a revelation to Eve—smart, ballsy, irreverent and full of common sense. Like her sister, in fact, but without the enormous chip weighing her shoulder down.

Clare, as usual, wasn’t prepared to humour Eve.

‘You invited Melanie,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Your choice. Either this is a support group or it’s not.’

Eve shrugged. ‘She might not show anyway. I wouldn’t, if I were her.’

The fact that Eve could hear the petulance in her own voice annoyed her, because she hadn’t said what she wanted to say at that point. Which was, ‘Whose choice?’

The group had been Clare’s idea, and she’d pretty much bulldozed Eve and Lily into it.

‘We’re going on holiday,’ Eve said instead. Trying the words for size. As if speaking them aloud might break the spell and it would cease to be true.

‘You’re what?’ Clare yelped. ‘When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?’

Eve grinned. ‘I haven’t seen you. And I’m telling you now.’

‘There’s such a thing as the phone! Anyway, you did phone me. Why didn’t you tell me then?’

‘Only just happened,’ Eve said. ‘Anyway, I wanted to tell you in person. You know I went around for pizza on Saturday?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’

Eve could see what Clare was thinking: Yes, and I knew it had gone well because I didn’t hear from you. God, had her friend always been this transparent? For that matter, had she?

Still, Eve was grateful when the flicker of resentment that crossed Clare’s face didn’t translate into words. Instead, Clare said, ‘What is it with pizza?’

‘Kid-friendly, I suppose,’ Eve said. ‘If the world wasn’t full of every-other-weekend dads I swear Pizza Express and Domino’s would go out of business.’

Clare snorted.

‘Anyway, it was good. Well, as good as can be expected. Hannah wasn’t exactly friendly, but she wasn’t unfriendly.’

No head-to-toe soakings in cola, thought Eve, though she didn’t say it.

‘And the other two were great. Sophie spent most of lunch relating the entire plot of that book I bought her. And Alfie’s adorable, it’s like he’s adopted me. Ian says not to take it seriously. It’s my novelty factor, plus the fact my Spiderman tolerance threshold is unfeasibly high. We managed a full three hours. Impressed, huh?’

Clare nodded. ‘So,’ she said. ‘About this holiday?’

‘We-ell, holiday might be a slight exaggeration,’ Eve said, trying unsuccessfully to conceal her excitement. ‘When school breaks for summer they’re going to Cornwall for a couple of weeks—Ian’s parents have a place there—and Ian suggested I join them. Not for the whole time,just for a week at the end, so it’s not too much for the kids.’ Or me, she added in her head.

‘What holiday?’

Neither of them had seen Lily arrive. ‘Don’t tell me you and Ian are getting away from it all. Just the two of you?’

‘Can tell you don’t have any kids!’ Clare snorted.

Lily ignored her. ‘Not you and Ian?’ she asked Eve.

Eve grinned, aware the euphoria she’d barely been able to contain since Ian made the suggestion was now flooding her face. ‘Me, Ian, Alfie, Sophie and Hannah…’ For now, it didn’t seem necessary to mention that, for some of that time at least, Ian’s parents would be there too. Clare would have plenty of theories on that, Eve knew. She also knew that right now she didn’t want to hear them. She was more than capable of adding two and two and getting an accurate total without Clare’s help.

‘No way!’ Lily surprised Eve by flinging her arms around her. And Eve was instantly reminded of Louisa. ‘That’s great. Real progress. How did it happen?’

Eve was opening her mouth to begin the story again, when a slight draught made them turn towards the door. ‘Not now,’ Clare hissed. ‘No time.’

Even though the others had no idea what Melanie Cheung looked like, beyond the vague description Eve had given Clare over the phone, there was no doubt in their minds that Melanie was now standing in the doorway, peering across packed tables towards the corner where they sat. She was clutching what looked like a waiting-list-worthy Hermès Kelly bag to her chest as if it was body armour.

‘Oh God Eve,’ Clare murmured. ‘Tall, slim, gorgeous. Your basic self-esteem crusher.’

‘Shut up.’

Raising a hand to wave Melanie Cheung over, Eve had to share Clare’s misgivings. What could this woman—all expensive handbag, effortless style and shampoo-ad hair—possibly want with them?

‘Thank you, so much, for letting me come along. I really appreciate it,’ Melanie Cheung said, when she’d settled into the seat they’d saved for her and Lily had returned with two skinny lattes and a bottle of water. ‘Are the others on their way?’

‘Others?’ Eve looked at her, confused. ‘What others?’

‘Well…I thought…I mean, I know you said it wasn’t so much a group…’ Melanie looked flustered, as if she wanted the ground to swallow her up.

‘There are no others,’ Clare said with a smile, taking control of the situation. ‘Just us. It doesn’t matter, does it?’

Melanie shook her head, but it looked as if it did matter. A lot.

‘Eve, you already know, sort of. She’s a new stepmum…’

‘Not exactly,’ Eve protested.

‘As good as,’ Clare continued. ‘To three children—her partner, Ian, is a widower. Lily’s my sister and has a three-year-old stepdaughter.’ Lily didn’t bother to correct her. ‘And I’m not a stepmother at all,’ Clare said. ‘But I had one, so that gives me a different perspective on things when it’s needed.’

‘And when it’s not!’ Lily said, but she was smiling.

‘What about you, Melanie?’ Eve said, conscious of the other woman’s discomfort. ‘What’s your story?’

Gingerly, Melanie placed the bag she was still hugging—either as protection or in case she’d need to make aquick getaway—on the seat beside her.

‘I’m divorced,’ she said, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the low-level chatter around them. ‘My ex recently remarried and had a child—not in that order. A little boy with his new…wife. But that’s not strictly relevant. I mean, it’s not as if Barty’s my stepson. He’s nothing to me. And that’s kind of odd in itself, don’t you think?’ She paused, obviously embarrassed at how much she’d revealed so quickly. The others looked everywhere but at her, while Melanie sipped her latte and tried to regain her composure.

‘Anyway…I’ve been seeing this guy for a couple of months now, I met him through work. His name’s Vince, his company set up personalshopper’s computer systems. It was all going really well, no pressure, just an easy-going thing. No strings—well, not many. Exactly what I needed after…well, after…you know…’

They did. Even if Eve hadn’t already filled them in, Melanie’s divorce was well enough documented for anyone who ever read the gossip columns.

‘And then I found out he’s been married before. Vince, that is. He just tossed it into the conversation, like it was nothing; just one of those things everybody did in their twenties.’

‘Not me,’ Clare said.

‘Me neither,’ Eve agreed.

‘That’s what I mean,’ Melanie continued. ‘And on top of the unmentioned marriage, it turns out he has a daughter who’s ten. She lives with her mother but he sees her every other weekend, and a week or so in each of the school holidays.’

‘How d’you mean, you “found out”?’ Lily asked, sketching inverted commas in the air. ‘You mean he kept it secret?’

‘No, not exactly,’ said Melanie. ‘He just hadn’t thought to mention it and I didn’t think to ask. Well, you wouldn’t, would you? But I know what you must be thinking. I mean, how do you date someone for two, nearly three, months and not tell them something that significant? And, to be honest, I feel like an idiot. How can you not know your boyfriend has a kid?’

‘I wasn’t thinking that,’ Lily said, with a shrug.

‘Really?’ said Clare turning to her. ‘I was.’

Melanie gave a nervous laugh. ‘But it’s not just that. It’s like one minute it’s all easy-come, easy-go, the next he’s got a ten-year-old daughter and therefore, by extension, so do I.’

She paused, clearly panic-stricken. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to meet her. I do. It’s just…I’m terrified. I don’t have the first clue how to handle it. What to say, what to do.’

Taking a deep breath, Melanie looked around at the other women. ‘I’m pathetic, aren’t I? I’m scared of a tweenager I haven’t even met.’

‘And, not unreasonably, a bit pissed off with Vince for putting you in this position without warning,’ Lily added. ‘I don’t call that pathetic.’

‘Not at all,’ Eve added. ‘If we’re anything to go by, out-and-out terror is entirely normal.’ She was gratified to see that Melanie, who’d looked on the verge of tears, smiled.

‘When did you find out your guy was a dad?’ Melanie asked Eve. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’

‘It was a bit different,’ Eve said. ‘I knew long before I met him.’ And she ran Melanie through a potted history of her and Ian.

‘What about you?’ Melanie asked Lily, when Eve had finished.

‘Pretty much straightaway,’ she said. ‘A week in, maybe two at most. But that’s Liam for you. He wouldn’t see what the big deal was. It was, “Can’t see you Saturday babes, it’s my turn to have the kid. Don’t suppose you fancy coming round too, do you?”’

‘Really?’ Eve said, eyebrows raised. ‘You’re kidding? Liam let you meet Rosie that soon? How did he know it was going to last? You and him, I mean.’

‘What? You don’t believe in love at first sight?’ Lily grinned to show she wasn’t serious. ‘And I didn’t meet Rosie that soon. But only because I refused. Liam would have wheeled me along on our second date, no doubt about it. To him, it’s not that big a deal. He thinks we think too much. And, sometimes, listening to us beat ourselves up, I wonder if he doesn’t have a point.

‘Anyway,’ said Lily. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes. I didn’t meet Rosie that first time. It would have been too soon for Rosie, and frankly it was too soon for me. I mean, you meet this guy, you basically laugh each other into bed, then you wake up next morning and he’s like, “Oh by the way babe, how d’you feel about brat sitting at the weekend”. Call me old-fashioned, but I say that’s a bit too soon!’

The group burst out laughing and Eve took the opportunity to start a coffee run. As Melanie reached for her purse Eve waved her away. ‘You get them in next time.’

‘Not for me, thanks,’ Lily said, reaching for her jacket and backpack. ‘I’ve got to be back at work five minutes ago. Lovely to meet you, Melanie. Sorry to run out on you. See you soon.’

Melanie watched Eve and Lily hug each other and then head in different directions, Lily to the door, Eve to the counter, as Clare called her daughter to check she was where she said she’d be, doing what she said she’d be doing. At home doing homework.

Did they realize what they’d just said? Melanie wondered. Next time. For the first time since landing in London, Melanie felt on the verge of something, some people, who might truly, in time, become her own friends.

‘That whole Lily/Liam thing kind of puts things in perspective,’ Melanie said when Eve had returned with two more coffees and a herbal tea for Melanie. ‘I mean, this might sound odd to you…but, Vince and I, it’s just not that kind of relationship. If he’d gone straight from first date to “meet my kid” I would have run a mile. I’ve so had it with big romantic gestures…’ She paused. ‘Vince is nothing like my ex. Thank God. We just like each other’s company. So I guess I can understand.’

‘That’s all very well,’ Clare said and Eve winced, knowing her friend was about to punch right to the heart of the matter. ‘But didn’t he have any photos of her? Of his daughter?’

‘Um,’ Melanie looked uncomfortable. ‘He might do. I mean, yes…yes, I’m sure he does but usually we hang out at mine. It’s not much, just a couple of rooms. But it’s above work, so it’s easy. I’ve only been to his place once and it was, late. You know…’ Her voice trailed off.

The others smiled to show they knew. Well, Eve did. She’d only set foot in Ian’s house once so far. But it was a long time since Clare had been anywhere else with anyone else. Late, or otherwise.

The Tube to Finchley took even longer than usual. The Northern Line was sweltering, not just from that day’s heat but from decades of muggy, smoggy summers, the memory of which seemed to have lingered in the tunnels, just waiting to burst out at the slightest rise in temperature above ground. Why was it, Clare wondered, leaning her head against the murky glass, that seventy degrees above ground translated into ninety degrees below?

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the delay,’ came the driver’s voice over a tannoy. ‘We are being held in the tunnel and hope to be on the move again shortly.’

Clare sighed as her watch reached and then passed nine.

Damn it, there went another seven pounds.

She’d been hoping to make it back in time to sneak under the wire of three hours. But 9.05 might as well be 9.55 where babysitters were concerned. Even the, supposedly cheaper, teenage variety. Like traffic wardens, they showed no mercy. A minute was as good as an hour.

Perhaps Lou was right, Clare thought, totting up the cost of that evening’s meeting and feeling nausea rise as the sums approached forty pounds. Forty? How could four hours out of the house and a couple of cups of coffee set her back forty quid? Maybe Lou had a point. Perhaps she was old enough to stay home alone. Her daughter was now fourteen after all, and if the girl was to be believed, all her friends were allowed to stay home without a sitter.

Mind you, if Lou was to be believed, her friends were allowed to do a lot of things she wasn’t. Staying home alone was just the tip of the iceberg.

The train lurched, then lurched again. As it gained momentum a through-breeze temporarily relieved the cloying heat.

It was tempting, Clare had to admit. Lou got the appearance of freedom and Clare would be twenty, even thirty, pounds richer; and maybe the concession would buy Clare a reprieve. Not to mention a little more time to decide what to do about the many other things that Lou’s friends had that she didn’t. Those grenades Lou lobbed willy-nilly at Clare when they had one of their few, but increasingly ferocious, rows.

Well, ferocious on Lou’s part, at least.

Recent grenades included, in no particular order: a dad (always a direct hit, that one), a family (obviously Clare didn’t qualify), grandparents (not granny, proper ones, two sets, they came in pairs, apparently), an iPod, a TV in her room, cousins, free run of Topshop, a Saturday job, a holiday…

The orange glow of streetlights made Clare blink as the Tube train clattered out of the tunnel on its approach to East Finchley station.

Nearly home.

Clare knew the storm was coming. She’d felt the clouds on the horizon as Lou banged around their tiny kitchen picking holes in everything her mother suggested she eat for supper. Pasta was boring. Fish fingers and chips were for kids. Jacket potato was too slow because we don’t even have a microwave. And no, she wasn’t interested in the remains of a moussaka Clare had soothed herself cooking for last night’s supper.

Nothing was right.

Nothing was good enough.

Everything was crap.

‘Don’t say crap,’ Clare said instinctively, earning herself a scowl from her daughter. The signs were familiar. Blissfully rare, at least to date, but Clare had seen enough to know they heralded a fight. What she couldn’t work out was what this one was going to be about.

‘Why not?’ Lou shouted, giving the fridge door a slam. ‘It is crap. My. Life. Is. Total. Crap.’

Clare opened her mouth to rebuke Louisa, and shut it again. The storm was coming, she might as well get it over with.

‘Everybody else goes on holiday,’ Lou had yelled. ‘You don’t have to listen to them talking at school. Bridget’s going to Ibiza. Her mum and dad have rented a villa for a month. A WHOLE MONTH. Madeleine’s mum and dad are taking her to Crete. And they’re letting her take Callie with her. And Charlie’s going to Turks and Caicos.’

Clare was pretty sure Lou didn’t even know where Turks and Caicos was, but that didn’t lessen her daughter’s frustration.

‘Amy’s going to her mum and dad’s cottage in Norfolk for the whole summer…’ she continued. ‘The whole summer, Mum! All my friends are going somewhere. And I’m stuck here!’

Groaning audibly, Clare wondered if she’d be able to get away without telling Lou that Auntie Eve was going to Cornwall with her boyfriend and his children, to stay in their grandparents’ holiday house. Lou would find so many faults with that sentence Clare could hardly bear to think about it.

The words echoed inside Clare’s head as the Tube doors finally opened and she stepped off the train into a balmy north London night. The venom with which Lou had spat her resentment at the comforts she didn’t have that her friends did…And unspoken, the words that had sent Clare fleeing from their flat for fear of hearing them, knowing she couldn’t bear it if she did. Knowing that if she let Lou say those words, the words she knew her daughter was thinking, things would change for ever between them. ‘And I’m stuck here,’ Lou had screamed before her bedroom door slammed shut behind her.

With you.